Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
“That’s it, Abbie. Such a good girl.” She lets out a little whine at the praise and rocks her hips. “You’re so wet and warm.” Her pussy clenches around me as I rock in and out, getting deeper with every stroke.
“So big,” she pants as she digs her nails into me.
“Look how pretty you are with my cock inside you.” I glance down between us and watch it disappear into her body. “Fuck, I’m probably breeding you right now.”
“Spencer,” she begs.
Her orgasm is so close that I reach down and brush my knuckle over her clit. “You were made for me, Abbie.” Her body shivers in pleasure as she gets right to the edge. “Made to let me love you.”
Her eyes lock with mine, and that’s when her orgasm hits. The feel of her hot little cunt squeezing my cock sends me over the edge. All I can do is thrust hard one last time and fill her pussy with my release.
As the pleasure showers over us like falling stars, the only thoughts I have are of the two of us, our lives together, and the possible new life we created.
I’m so busy falling in love that I don’t think about someone out there plotting ways to take Abbie from me.
Chapter Eleven
ABBIE
I swing my legs back and forth over the arm of the sofa, fiddling with the new phone Spencer got me. I'm starting to suspect he's a magician. He is rather magical, especially that tongue of his. My whole body warms at the reminder. That man devoured every part of me, and now there isn't an inch on my body he hasn't tasted.
Since he gave me the phone, I’ve taken a million pictures with it. I want to remember every second of being here, and that includes pictures of Spencer and me together. I managed to get a few sneaky ones of him on his own, but I want some with both of us.
A couple days ago, I barely wanted to touch my phone. Now that I have someone that wants to protect and support me, everything is a whole lot less scary. It’s been a really long time since I experienced that kind of support, but even then, I don’t think I’ve ever had it to the extent Spencer gives.
My parents mean well, but I was one of those pregnancies where the mom didn't know until she was at the hospital in pain. She didn’t understand why until they told her she was in labor. A few pushes later and there I was, a not so fun surprise.
They had never planned to have kids and were already in their early forties. When I graduated, they were not only rushing me out the door but themselves too.
They put their condo up for sale my senior year. I'm not mad about it. My unexpected arrival completely transformed my parents' lives. They didn't kick me out per se, but they helped me get into my apartment and paid for the first year of rent before they took off. Now they’re on some kind of world cruise that extends over years.
It was never a thought for me to reach out to them when things started to go bad. Over time, the frequency of our calls decreased significantly. I'm uncertain whether this is a natural part of growing up, where communication with one's parents diminishes, or if they simply moved on with the life they originally wanted. The tapering off over time made it easier for me to not get stuck in my feelings about it. I could wish for something different, but what good would that do?
"How’s it going with the new phone?" Spencer asks when he walks in the room. He comes to stand on the other side of the couch so he can stare down at me. He was in his office earlier taking calls and answering emails. That’s when I’d snuck in and taken pictures of him.
Every time I see him, my heart gives an excited flutter. I thought it was an expression people used, but it turns out it’s real. There’s definitely something that feels like butterflies in my chest when he looks at me.
“So far so good. No social media, but I’m logging into my emails. I suppose I can’t completely drop off the map.” I might be locked away here, but the rest of the world is still doing their thing. I have to make sure I’m keeping up on bills and all those boring things in life. “How about you? Did you get some work done?” I slide my legs off the arm of the couch and sit up.
“I did.” His brows pull together, the flash of irritation clear.
“Oh, sorry.” I turn so my feet hang off the couch. “I didn’t realize I had my feet on it.” It’s an old habit of mine that irritated my mom. She’d say I was going to ruin the furniture. When I got my own couch, I rebelled and did what I wanted. I’m not the best at sitting still either. I usually flop around like a fish.